Halloween... Spiritualism over Materialism

Halloween is an extremely important and serious festival... kind of a shame about the commercial version it has developed into.
It's an antique Celtic pagan festival. The ancient Celts believed that on this night, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead disappeared. This made it possible to make contact with positive spirits from beyond and to benefit from their favours. Hence the scary costumes were made to keep the evil spirits distant.
The word Halloween is interpreted as 'The Night of All Saints.'

Halloween 'fun', began for me, by taking my children with friends and their kids from door to door in the neighbourhood and waiting outside while they did the rounds of knocking at people's doors for a handful of goodies; mostly chocolates which they felt obliged to finish eating the same evening with the result of a stomach ache before going to bed and a good excuse to miss school the next day.

That was some years ago when global warming had not quite made its effect and it was usually a foggy, cold winter's night with prepared costumes and many underlays.

It is only now that I feel different towards this celebration. It brings joy to many people to dress up and make an effort to meet up with friends, go out and have fun in the name of Halloween. And what a great idea. Any celebration that brings happiness and a gathering of friends together, is to be cherished.

Hala and I began the weekend celebrations with a party at home. It turned out to be an evening of ...  Yep... fun, laughter, dancing and getting better acquainted with new friends and the rekindling of the older ones.  Hala's recipe for the Russian salad was a success.

Let me get back to the infamous fencing lesson and my true feelings about it.
Despite the lack of sleep, I woke up at 8 am to attend the 9.30 class. All excited, I turned up early and got instruction from the two teachers; Julianna and Tomash (who I must add was extremely good-looking, with a naughty smile).
We wore the appropriate fencing clothes of the various tops to protect us against being targeted by the foil, which is a light and flexible one-handed weapon. We were then handed a bladed weapon, capped at the top with rubber protection.

Once placed across our opponent, we began the defence. The foot movement was similar to boxing which I had taken a go at two years before with a trainer and loved.  Only due to the swelling of my right wrist, I was advised by the good doctor to stop: "Maybe you had your fun with boxing and should give it a rest.  Try another, less vigorous sport!" Was my doctor's advice. What she really meant was 'Haldita, this is not a sport to start at your age.' And sure. I can take a hint; verbally or physically.
However, I found fencing rather harsh. The lady opposing me at the last rounds was aggressive and I could see how she got her anger out in the fight, with a sword. As much as I loved boxing, fencing was not quite for me. I really have no anger in me. But I was enrolled for another 5 lessons before Christmas as it was an invigorating exercise. Who knows? I may even change my mind and like fencing.

In the evening, I was meeting Arabel, a strong woman of Scottish heritage whom I met some seven years ago, organising an art exhibition for an artist.
"What made you do this?" Asked Arabel upon our first meeting.
"Well, the artist was so good-looking. He approached me when Aisha took me to see his first exhibition in London and with the knowledge that I've been living here for so long, he asked if I would be interested in arranging an evening of his works of art. And as I found his work different, I agreed." I said with a smile, wondering what Arabel's reaction would be.
Our friendship continued and I look up to my dear friend who has been through a whirlwind of changes in her life but always with a positive outlook and always with new ventures in mind to thrust upon.

We met early on the slightly damp October evening to attend a book signing.
As we stood in the bookshop amongst mostly eccentric-looking British men and women, I saw a friendly face, walk through the glass door. It was Casper, whom I had briefly met at Aisha's party a week before.
We connected this time in the smoking area when he introduced me to his aristocratic friend and the very attractive Greta.
"Where is the man himself?" Asked Casper's friend, regarding the man, the book had been written about.
"He has authorised the book to be written, I believe." Answered Casper.
"That's not what I heard." I intervened. "Don't think he's coming either."

I walked back into the bookshop to find my friend, Arabel who was busy mingling.
"Where did you disappear to darling?" She asked with her husky voice.
"Oh!  Just bumped into someone I met only last week at a party." I explained.
At this time, the author gave a short speech, after which, Arabel was keen to introduce me to her old friends and acquaintances.

Felicity, the Irish lady standing next to me, dressed in dark velvet, a coiffure and make-up which I could best describe as eccentric, began talking to me: "I'm a friend of the author's. Do you know what they say about the character of the book?" She went on: "He is a mean man with many wifelets."

Now... The words written on the back of the hardback clearly state 'this unauthorised biography'. Without for one second judging the author's views of the man, nor the man who the book has been written about, it made me wonder how do we judge? What makes us label the other as good... bad... ugly? Right... Or wrong?

When I expressed my feelings to Arabel, she said in a very cool manner: "Would you like to meet the man in question?"
"But of course, I would." Was my immediate reaction.

Now... If one day I get to meet this talked-about personality, it would be interesting to see how I would feel towards him. Sometimes, the most open-minded, free-thinkers and free-doers are made wrong simply because they get misunderstood through their frankness.